As part of their two-month anniversary, Chet came home with a pair wine glasses.

“They’re beautiful,” Mary Beth exclaimed.

“Like you,” Chet said.

“Yes, but these are so elegant yet simple.”

“Like us,” Chet said.

Mary Beth giggled. Chet poured the wine.

“Mm,” said Mary Beth, taking a sip. “Perfect.”

“Like us,” Chet repeated. “But we have to clink first.”

“Oh, right,” Mary Beth said, and they clinked.

“What a lovely sound,” Mary Beth said.

When Chet just nodded, Mary Beth said, “Not like us?”

“Exactly like us,” Chet said.

They both took another sip.

“And I love the feel of them. Delicate. Fragile. Not like us. We’re...”

“Strong. Bold. Vigorous,” Chet said.

“Like your big, bold, vigorous cock—the way it feels on my spine right now. It’s making me wet.”

“I love making you wet,” Chet said.

They took another sip.

“One thing, though,” Mary Beth added. “These glasses are so delicate and fragile, and I don’t think they’d fit in our tiny apartment’s little dishwasher.”

“Probably not the best thing for them anyway,” Chet said. “I guess we could wash them by hand.”

“Yeah, but I’d be afraid of breaking them,” Mary Beth said.

Chet considered this. “I guess we could give up drinking wine.”

“Not really,” Mary Beth said.

“So what should we do?” Chet asked.

“We should just get it over with.”

“What do you mean?”

Mary Beth took a big sip, finishing her glass. “We should smash them in the fireplace.”

“Yeah,” said Chet, after finishing his glass. “Except we don’t have a fireplace.”

Mary Beth turned to Chet. She stood on tiptoe, her lips touching his.

After the kiss, Mary Beth said, “There’s this darling old farmhouse up on Rooster Road...”